The Pioneers (59 page)

“Listen!” said Elizabeth; “I hear the rustling of the hay; they are escaping at this moment. Oh! they will be detected instantly!' ”

By this time they were at the corner, where Edwards and Natty were in the act of drawing the almost helpless body of Benjamin through the aperture. The oxen had started back from their hay, and were standing with their heads down the street, leaving room for the party to act in.

“Throw the hay into the cart,” said Edwards, “or they will suspect how it has been done. Quick, that they may not see it.”

Natty had just returned from executing this order when the light of the keeper's candle shone through the hole, and instantly his voice was heard in the jail, exclaiming for his prisoners.

“What is to be done now?” said Edwards. “This drunken fellow will cause our detection, and we have not a moment to spare.”

“Who's drunk, ye lubber!” muttered the steward.

“A break-jail! a break-jail!” shouted five or six voices from within.

“We must leave him,” said Edwards.

“ 'Twouldn't be kind, lad,” returned Natty; “he took half the disgrace of the stocks on himself today, and the creater has feeling.”

At this moment two or three men were heard issuing from the door of the “Bold Dragoon,” and among them the voice of Billy Kirby.

“There's no moon yet,” cried the wood chopper; “but it's a clear night. Come, who's for home! Hark! What a rumpus they're kicking up in the jail—here's go and see what it's about.”

“We shall be lost,” said Edwards, “if we don't drop this man.”

At that instant Elizabeth moved close to him, and said rapidly, in a low voice:

“Lay him in the cart and start the oxen; no one will look there.”

“There's a woman's quickness in the thought,” said the youth.

The proposition was no sooner made than executed. The steward was seated on the hay, and enjoined to hold his peace, and apply the goad that was placed in his hand, while the oxen were urged on. So soon as this arrangement was completed, Edwards and the hunter stole along the houses for a short distance, when they disappeared through an opening that led into the rear of the buildings. The oxen were in brisk motion, and presently the cries of pursuit were heard in the street. The ladies quickened their pace, with a wish to escape the crowd of constables and idlers that were approaching, some execrating, and some laughing at the exploit of the prisoners. In the confusion, the voice of Kirby was plainly distinguishable above all the others, shouting and swearing that he would have the fugitives, threatening to bring back Natty in one pocket, and Benjamin in the other.

“Spread yourselves, men,” he cried, as he passed the ladies, his heavy feet sounding along the street like the tread of a dozen; “spread yourselves; to the mountains; they'll be in the mountain in a quarter of an hour, and then look out for a long rifle.”

His cries were echoed from twenty mouths, for not only the jail but the taverns had sent forth their numbers, some earnest in the pursuit, and others joining it as in sport.

As Elizabeth turned in at her father's gate, she saw the wood chopper stop at the cart, when she gave Benjamin up for lost. While they were hurrying up the walk, two figures, stealing cautiously but quickly under the shades of the trees, met the eyes of the ladies, and in a moment Edwards and the hunter crossed their path.

“Miss Temple, I may never see you again,” exclaimed the youth; “let me thank you for all your kindness; you do not, cannot know, my motives.”

“Fly! fly!” cried Elizabeth. “The village is alarmed. Do not be found conversing with me at such a moment, and in these grounds.”

“Nay, I must speak, though detection were certain.”

“Your retreat to the bridge is already cut off; before you can gain the wood your pursuers will be there.—If——”

“If what?” cried the youth. “Your advice has saved me once already; I will follow it to death.”

“The street is now silent and vacant,” said Elizabeth, after a pause; “cross it, and you will find my father's boat in the lake. It would be easy to land from it where you please in the hills.”

“But Judge Temple might complain of the trespass.”

“His daughter shall be accountable, sir.”

The youth uttered something in a low voice that was heard only by Elizabeth and turned to execute what she had suggested. As they were separating, Natty approached the females, and said:

“You'll remember the canister of powder, children. Them beavers must be had, and I and the pups be getting old; we want the best of ammunition.”

“Come, Natty,” said Edwards, impatiently.

“Coming, lad, coming. God bless you, young ones, both of ye, for ye mean well and kindly to the old man.”

The ladies paused until they had lost sight of the retreating figures, when they immediately entered the mansion house.

While this scene was passing in the walk, Kirby had overtaken the cart, which was his own, and had been driven by Edwards without asking the owner, from the place where the patient oxen usually stood at evening, waiting the pleasure of their master.

“Whoa—come hither, Golden,” he cried. “Why, how come you off the end of the bridge, where I left you, dummies?”

“Heave ahead,” muttered Benjamin, giving a random blow with his lash that alighted on the shoulder of the other.

“Who the devil be you?” cried Billy, turning round in surprise, but unable to distinguish, in the dark, the hard visage that was just peering over the cart rails.

“Who be I? Why I'm helmsman aboard of this here craft, d'ye see, and a straight wake I'm making of it. Ay, ay! I've got the bridge right ahead, and the bilboes dead aft; I calls that good steerage, boy. Heave ahead.”

“Lay your lash in the right spot, Mr. Benny Pump,” said the wood chopper, “or I'll put you in the palm of my hand and box your ears. Where be you going with my team?”

“Team!”

“Ay, my cart and oxen.”

“Why, you must know, Master Kirby, that the Leatherstocking and I—that's Benny Pump—you knows Ben?—well, Benny and I—no, me and Benny; dam'me if I know how 'tis; but some of us are bound after a cargo of beaver skins, d'ye see, and so we've pressed the cart to ship them 'ome in. I say, Master Kirby, what a lubberly oar you pull—you handle an oar, boy, pretty much as a cow would a musket, or a lady would a marlinespike.”

Billy had discovered the state of the steward's mind, and he walked for some time alongside of the cart, musing with himself, when he took the goad from Benjamin (who fell back on the hay and was soon asleep) and drove his cattle down the street, over the bridge, and up the mountain, towards a clearing, in which he was to work the next day, without any other interruption than a few hasty questions from parties of the constables.

Elizabeth stood for an hour at the window of her room, and saw the torches of the pursuers gliding along the side of the mountain, and heard their shouts and alarms; but, at the end of that time, the last party returned, wearied and disappointed, and the village became as still as when she issued from the gate on her mission to the jail.

GERTRUDE OF WYOMING

 

IT was yet early on the following morning, when Elizabeth and Louisa met by appointment and proceeded to the store of Monsieur Le Quoi in order to redeem the pledge the former had given to the Leatherstocking. The people were again assembling for the business of the day, but the hour was too soon for a crowd, and the ladies found the place in possession of its polite owner, Billy Kirby, one female customer, and the boy who did the duty of helper or clerk.

Monsieur Le Quoi was perusing a packet of letters with manifest delight, while the wood chopper, with one hand thrust in his bosom, and the other in the folds of his jacket, holding an ax under his right arm, stood sympathizing in the Frenchman's pleasure with good-natured interest. The freedom of manners that prevailed in the new settlements commonly leveled all difference in rank, and with it, frequently, all considerations of education and intelligence. At the time the ladies entered the store, they were unseen by the owner, who was saying to Kirby:

“Ah! ha! Monsieur Beel, dis lettair mak me de most happi of mans. Ah! ma che‘re France! I vill see you aga'n.”

“I rejoice, Monsieur, at anything that contributes to your happiness,” said Elizabeth, “but hope we are not going to lose you entirely.”

The complaisant shopkeeper changed the language to French and recounted rapidly to Elizabeth his hopes of being permitted to return to his own country. Habit had, however, so far altered the manners of this pliable personage that he continued to serve the wood chopper, who was in quest of some tobacco, while he related to his more gentle visitor the happy change that had taken place in the dispositions of his own countrymen.

The amount of it all was that Mr. Le Quoi, who had fled from his own country more through terror than because he was offensive to the ruling powers in France, had succeeded at length in getting an assurance that his return to the West Indies would be unnoticed; and the Frenchman, who had sunk into the character of a country shopkeeper with so much grace, was about to emerge again from his obscurity into his proper level in society.

We need not repeat the civil things that passed between the parties on this occasion, nor recount the endless repetitions of sorrow that the delighted Frenchman expressed at being compelled to quit the society of Miss Temple. Elizabeth took an opportunity, during this expenditure of polite expressions, to purchase the powder privately of the boy, who bore the generic appellation of Jonathan. Before they parted, however, Mr. Le Quoi, who seemed to think that he had not said enough, solicited the honor of a private interview with the heiress, with a gravity in his air that announced the importance of the subject. After conceding the favor, and appointing a more favorable time for the meeting, Elizabeth succeeded in getting out of the store, into which the countrymen now began to enter, as usual, where they met with the same attention and
bienséance
as formerly.

Elizabeth and Louisa pursued their walk as far as the bridge in profound silence; but when they reached that place, the latter stopped, and appeared anxious to utter something that her diffidence suppressed.

“Are you ill, Louisa?” exclaimed Miss Temple. “Had we not better return, and seek another opportunity to meet the old man?”

“Not ill, but terrified. Oh! I never, never can go on that hill again with you only. I am not equal to it, indeed I am not.”

This was an unexpected declaration to Elizabeth, who, although she experienced no idle apprehension of a danger that no longer existed, felt most sensitively all the delicacy of maiden modesty. She stood for some time, deeply reflecting within herself; but, sensible it was a time for action instead of reflection, she struggled to shake off her hesitation, and replied firmly:

“Well, then it must be done by me alone. There is no other than yourself to be trusted, or poor old Leatherstocking will be discovered. Wait for me in the edge of these woods, that at least I may not be seen strolling in the hills by myself just now. One would not wish to create remarks, Louisa—if—if—. You will wait for me, dear girl?”

“A year, in sight of the village, Miss Temple,” returned the agitated Louisa, “but do not, do not ask me to go on that hill.”

Elizabeth found that her companion was really unable to proceed, and they completed their arrangement by posting Louisa out of the observation of the people who occasionally passed, but nigh the road, and in plain view of the whole valley. Miss Temple then proceeded alone. She ascended the road which has been so often mentioned in our narrative, with an elastic and firm step, fearful that the delay in the store of Mr. Le Quoi, and the time necessary for reaching the summit, would prevent her being punctual to the appointment. Whenever she passed an opening in the bushes, she would pause for breath, or, perhaps, drawn from her pursuit by the picture at her feet, would linger a moment to gaze at the beauties of the valley. The long drought had, however, changed its coat of verdure to a hue of brown, and, though the same localities were there, the view wanted the lively and cheering aspect of early summer. Even the heavens seemed to share in the dried appearance of the earth, for the sun was concealed by a haziness in the atmosphere, which looked like a thin smoke without a particle of moisture, if such a thing were possible. The blue sky was scarcely to be seen, though now and then there was a faint lighting up in spots, through which masses of rolling vapor could be discerned gathering around the horizon, as if nature were struggling to collect her floods for the relief of man. The very atmosphere that Elizabeth inhaled was hot and dry, and by the time she reached the point where the course led her from the highway, she experienced a sensation like suffocation. But, disregarding her feelings, she hastened to execute her mission, dwelling on nothing but the disappointment, and even the helplessness, the hunter would experience without her aid.

On the summit of the mountain which Judge Temple had named the “Vision,” a little spot had been cleared in order that a better view might be obtained of the village and the valley. At this point Elizabeth understood the hunter she was to meet him; and thither she urged her way, as expeditiously as the difficulty of the ascent and the impediments of a forest in a state of nature would admit. Numberless were the fragments of rocks, trunks of fallen trees, and branches, with which she had to contend; but every difficulty vanished before her resolution, and by her own watch, she stood on the desired spot several minutes before the appointed hour.